by dishpantheism

been planning my escape. i flirt with the idea of squatting. i’ve lived in some pretty crummy conditions. very crummy actually. squatting guarantees those but with a bit of silver lining: adventure. so. we’ll see what happens.

went for a drive. been feeling stifled. i love rain. it’s another sort of dampness that’s been plaguing me tho. but i saw a car pulled over and every passenger gazing at a tarantula crossing the road. mom and three or four children all pressed against the glass. i drove on for a few miles and then turned back. car and tarantula had disappeared. i was happy to have spotted both however fleetingly. brightened my mood a bit. less dowie and wae. driving has a pacifying effect in and of itself.

i woke with sleep paralysis again the other night. terrifying dream. weight on my chest. the sensation of suffocating. i had my legs crossed at the ankles. arms bent at the elbows. hands on shoulders. i was eventually able to wiggle my legs apart and then, after what seemed a long time, to move and breathe normally. gah. it’s silly but i was afraid to go back to sleep. i felt like i should burrow under the duvet and await the grasp of some monstrous paw. but i rolled over and faced the window where the moon was shining in and eventually drifted off to sleep again.

whenever i am feeling dissatisfied i think of stevie smith. this is the simplest of thoughts, that Death must come when we call, although he is a god. i am not so dissatisfied with the state of things. but i keep this thought with me. a petcock. long before i read stevie smith i had this notion. even green and angst-ridden i never entertained thoughts of ending my life. perhaps because i knew too intimately how horribly those thoughts manifested in others. in any case i’m making this entry gloomier and gloomier when my intent was the opposite. let me strain the juices: i’ve found it helpful to keep a petcock*. glance at it now and then. give it a half turn. burn my hand and swear. pass a night in fever. wake feeling fitter. it isn’t foolproof. nothing is. but sometimes it does the job. a balm for the paws when it feels the wire is biting in. i tried to convey this idea to a friend but ended up with my foot planted firmly in my mouth. it’s a mcmullen classic, that move.

tomorrow i will help my father replace his stovepipe. now that the storm has moved on the air is cold. tho my father is a pretty robust character i don’t like the idea of him sleeping in his old cabin with a gaping hole in the roof and no source of heat. i’ll wrangle the little brindle cat when i visit father. i love that creature. she’s wild as a hare.

wellidy. there’s a cauliflower with my name on it. i go.

*i keep several actually. most of them have nothing to do with death or the like. but they’re so convoluted it would take ages to explain. i used smith’s example because it seemed readily understandable and it was the closest to hand.